National Geographic Traveller India March 2018

M A R C H 2 0 1 8 • ` 1 5 0 • V O L . 6 I S S U E 9 • N AT G E O T R AV E L L E R . I N

JORDAN

A BEGINNER’S GUIDE

PLACE IN THE

SUN

26 Summer TRIPS TO PERU, KUMAON, ZANZIBAR & BEYOND

N AT I O N A L G E O G R A P H I C T R AV E L L E R I N D I A

march2018 VOL. 6 ISSUE 9

​20 ​VOICES

​20 ​WHERE’S MY PASSPORT? A Peugeot in France, a Land Cruiser in Tanzania: Six ways to ride into the sun ​22 ​WAYFARING Does gender affect the way we travel?

24 ​GUEST COLUMN​ In defence of that very beaten path

​2 5

The Itinerary

​26 ​HOW P.V. SINDHU SHUTTLES India’s new badminton star is fast clocking air miles and travel experiences ​30 ​LOVING LUCERNE This historic Swiss city reveals marvel after marvel ​38 ​LISBON HAS BIGGER FISH TO FRY The taste of the ocean dominates the palate of the Portuguese capital ​42 ​D OWN TO A FINE ART IN ANDHRA PRADESH

On a craft trail in Kondapalli and Masulipatnam ​48 ​IT’S ALWAYS PAST MIDNIGHT IN TEL AVIV

A queer favourite and party hub, Israel’s capital flaunts​beaches and Bauhaus buildings ​54 ​GETTING BACK ON THE RAIL The best seats in the U.S. are aboard Amtrak trains ​56 ​GOING BY THE GUT IN GUJARAT Zac O’Yeah’s travelogue on Bharuch’s ghee-rich cuisine and its Grecian past

RAINER MARTINI/LOOK-FOTO/LOOK/GETTY IMAGES

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Regulars 18 Editor’s Note | 144 Travel Quiz

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THE FOCUS ​58 ​J ORDAN’S SLAM DUNK The desert and Dead Sea apart, ​the Arab nation offers key lessons in history

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​T HE ADDRESS 7​2 MANY HAPPY RETURNS Having been given a vital makeover, the Oberoi, New Delhi, is again ready for the capital’s many parties ​ 6 PUT A KING ON IT 7 Bikaner’s Narendra Bhawan invokes the life of its last maharaja ​78 ​BORN ON THE BACKWATERS Luxurious tree houses in Madhya Pradesh are an ode to its lush jungles

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ON THE COVER Summers aren’t only about beaches, they are also about places that warm our hearts. Peru PLACE IN THE is one such land, 26 Summer a matryoshka doll of surprises with its colourful coast, the Amazon, and the Andes. In this picture, photographer Mark Edward Harris distills the essence of Cuzco, the ancient Incan capital. Like the Quechua woman with her pet llama, Peru too wears its sunny heart on its sleeve.

M A R C H 2 0 1 8 • ` 1 5 0 • V O L . 6 I S S U E 9 • N AT G E O T R AV E L L E R . I N

JORDAN

A BEGINNER’S GUIDE

SUN

TRIPS TO PERU, KUMAON, ZANZIBAR & BEYOND

ABHISHEK HAJELA (MAN), PHOTO COURTESY: PUGDUNDEE SAFARIS/DENWA BACKWATER ESCAPE (DINNER TABLE), MARK EDWARD HARRIS/PHOTOLIBRARY/GETTY IMAGES (COVER)

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THE DESTINATION ​80 ​TAKING A SHINE

From climbing a volcano in Indonesia to touring the ‘World’s Iceberg Capital’ in Canada—we know what you should do this summer ​84 ​RESURRECTING THE PARIS OF THE MIDDLE EAST

Beirut has matured ​into​a bustling yet enchanting metropolis ​94 ​THE HILLS OF KUMAON ARE ALIVE

An affair with the mountains that rivals Julie Andrews’ love for the hills in The Sound of Music

​110 ​COMING DOWN FROM

​135

THE JOURNEY

Discovering Lima’s modernity, Cuzco’s 15th-century ways, and a 500-year-old frozen child in Arequipa

MACHU PICCHU

​136 ​WHERE DID THE BEACH GO? Goa, away from its beaches, is biodiverse, sleaze-free, party-loving and populated with kind strangers

​122 ​PARIS CAN WAIT From Lille to Chantilly, France’s northern cities ​brim with charm and a laid-back way of life

​140 ​​FAITH MOVES THIS MOUNTAIN ​Three women in their 60s defy age by trekking to Lo Manthang, Nepal’s once-forbidden kingdom

​128 ​TREASURE ISLAND FOUND Zanzibar has on offer everything you’d want from a beach holiday— and then some

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​102 ​WHEN MICKEY ​M​AKES BELIEVE Pirates, fireworks and a taste of the Bahamas aboard a Disney cruise. Plus: Inside Orlando’s Walt Disney World

EDITOR’S NOTE SHREEVATSA NEVATIA

TURNING UP THE HEAT

I

daymakers. Much like the yesteryear fair, the travelling Southwest Film Exhibition arrived suddenly. I got myself a job, and for three months, I funded my hedonism by guiding children through a convoy of Aston Martins James Bond drove. I was beside myself.

While I had familiarised myself with Falmouth’s bus route, I had really only ever known three stops—college, home and the grocer’s. That summer, I decided to expand my horizons. I started going as far as the beach.

I ate ice cream and got drunk in the afternoons. Sitting in the back of my friend’s car, we would leave Falmouth to discover Cornish woods and pasties. We reached Land’s End (a real place with landscapes that stagger). Fun does make time fly, but it also makes distances shorter. We impulsively drove to London for a concert once, and then on another afternoon, we went to Bristol for a sandwich.

In all the years that have followed, I have chased the breeziness of that summer, but unlike seasons, the carelessness of early youth is stubborn. It doesn’t always return. In my mind, there still could be no better summer destination than Cornwall, but this magazine’s writers and photographers are obstinate. They differ. According to them, there are 26 other places in the world that can compete. Even though I demur, we do have the same purpose at heart. We want you to escape these 300 days of our summer.

JOHN SHEPHERD/E+/GETTY IMAGES

WE INDIANS NEED TO BE PRIVILEGED TO ENJOY SUMMER

nterrupted only by two months of torrential downpour, Bombay suffers valiantly its 300 days of summer. Usually dripping with either rain or sweat, we certainly know what it is like to be drenched. Weather doesn’t make for good banter here. Like bad conversation, our seasons too are made of monosyllables. Parts of the country might have it marginally better, but let’s face it—as a whole, we Indians sadly need to be privileged to enjoy summer. We need to be able to turn on our air conditioners.

Though I liked my six-week summer holidays as a child, my undergraduate classmates in Britain would look confounded when I told them that my parents and teachers didn’t really want me to go out and play in the sun. They really just wanted me to stay in. My British friends, on the other hand, spoke of summer with a glee that was unaffected. Our university gave us 12 weeks off, not six. The plans I heard my fellow students make were all audacious. Along with wool, these recently adult Britons were shedding the their inhibitions too. I couldn’t go back, not when everything was so copious.

In the summer of 2003, I still had hair I could grow down till my shoulders. I left the university’s student accommodation and began to shack up with people I barely knew.

Cornwall, a county of cliffs, castles and countless beaches, came alive with the mercury.

Falmouth, the student town where I stayed, transformed itself into a paradise for holi-

OUR MISSION National Geographic Traveller India is about immersive travel and authentic storytelling, inspiring readers to create their own journeys and return with amazing stories. Our distinctive yellow rectangle is a window into a world of unparalleled discovery.

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​Write to me at natgeoeditor@ack-media.com or Editor, National Geographic Traveller India, 7th Floor, AFL House, Lok Bharti Complex, Marol Maroshi Road, Andheri East, Mumbai- 400059.

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | MARCH 2018

THE ITINERARY CONVERSATION WITH P.V. SINDHU

P.V. SINDHU SHUTTLES FROM PLACE TO PRIZE THOUGH SHE SAYS SHE HAS NEVER BEEN ON A VACATION, INDIA’S NEW BADMINTON STAR IS FAST CLOCKING AIR MILES AND NOVEL TRAVEL EXPERIENCES BY R. GANESH

S

ometime in the 1990s, tennis legend Pete Sampras suffered yet another loss in the French Open— the only major tournament he never won in his career. A reporter asked him if he planned to stay on in Paris.

“Why? To see the Eiffel Tower?”

Sampras replied.

The answer illustrated a couple of things. Athletes can be hilariously curt after a loss. And sightseeing is not a priority for most of them.

P.V. Sindhu spent nearly two weeks in Rio de Janeiro during the 2016 Olympics, where she won the silver medal and gave India one of its proudest moments in sports. Here’s the sum total of the number of times she went to Copacabana beach or to the Christ the Redeemer statue—zero.

But while athletes are not sightseers, they are undeniably travellers.

And at times, they get a chance to see the local attractions. While Sampras had no interest in joining some queue

populated by fanny-packers in Paris, Sindhu has often been atop the Eiffel Tower. “We go there every year during the French Open and have crepes,” says the disarming, giggly 22-yearold in an interview minutes after a practice session.

There are sportspeople who hate travel, there are those who enjoy it.

What about you?

I enjoy it, even though there is not much time for sightseeing.

What are your memories of your first international tour?

It was for the under-15 Asian Championships in Brunei. I was about 14, and on my first long journey. We flew from Hyderabad to Delhi and then to Brunei. I was part of a team and we were so excited, we barely slept on the flight. We just watched movies.

After landing in Brunei, everything felt totally different. We saw the Sultan’s

palace and interacted with players from other countries.

What did you learn about yourself from the trip?

Even though I had teammates with me, I had no one from home. Nowadays, I travel with my parents. But on that trip, I learnt to be alert and careful as I was on my own. For example, sometimes you doze off when you are travelling, but I avoided that. I guess I learnt to take care of myself.

How do you overcome jet lag?

I’m used to it. We usually reach the host city three days in advance. So there’s enough time to adjust to the local clock.

And we immediately start practicing.

That helps.

Do you pack quickly? Do you travel light?

(Laughs) I can’t travel light. My bag is always heavy. I pack myself and I try to

POWER SPORT IMAGES/CONTRIBUTOR/GETTYIMAGES

P.V. Sindhu spent nearly two weeks in Rio de Janeiro during the 2016 Olympics, where she won the silver medal, but she never went to Copacabana beach or to the Christ the Redeemer statue.

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THE ITINERARY ANDHRA PRADESH

DOWN TO A FINE ART ON A CRAFT TRAIL IN ANDHRA PRADESH’S KONDAPALLI AND MASULIPATNAM BY SWAGATA GHOSH

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dusty, broken road drops down and turns left from the National Highway 30 at Kondapalli in Andhra Pradesh. Locals call it the Killa Road. It snakes up green hills to the fort where once Bahmani kings held sway. A procession of single-storeyed buildings with corrugated roofs line the road on the right. On the left, the land stretches to meet the hills. Kondapalli is green and yet very urban, and about 25 kilometres north of Andhra’s second most populated city, Vijayawada. It’s not on the regular tourist trail and neither an obvious choice for a day trip outside the city. And yet, if you have an afternoon free when visiting Vijayawada or nearby Guntur, Amaravati, there is no better way to experience a slice of Andhra than a few hours along this stretch.

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Everyone who lives on Kondapalli’s Killa Road is an artist—mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, and their grandparents before them

Everyone who lives on Killa Road is an artist—mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, and their grandparents before them. They make toys—colourful wooden toys of gods and goddesses, dancing girls with tilting heads, bullock carts, village scenes recreating festivals, homes, and presents. Every house is a highly skilled cottage industry, every open veranda a workshop.

It’s early afternoon in late October.

I walk past a few verandas strewn with chips of wood in odd shapes and sizes, and small tubs of paint in vibrant primary colours. A radio croons softly in the background. A couple of men huddle over the wood, carving shapes.

I take a few pictures. One of them looks up. My companion, a native Telegu speaker, asks him if we could sit and

INDIAPICTURES/CONTRIBUTOR/GETTYIMAGES, SWAGATA GHOSH (WOODEN BLOCKS)

A kalamkari artist dexterously works his fingers through the intricate details on a textile patch.

THE FOCUS

SLAM DU N K 58

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J O R D

JORDAN

Children raging on roller skates, Segway and cycles, men smoking shisha, women enjoying tornado fries— Amman's Roman Amphitheatre is where locals throng to for some inexpensive recreation.

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NOW ON THE ITINERARY OF WORLD TRAVELLERS, JORDAN DOES MUCH TO JUSTIFY OUR CURIOSITY. THE DESERT AND DEAD SEA APART, IT OFFERS KEY LESSONS IN HISTORY

BY HUMAIRA ANSARI | PHOTOGRAPHS BY ABHISHEK HAJELA MARCH 2018 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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THE FOCUS

AMMAN

JORDAN’S CAPITAL IS AS MODERN AS IT IS HISTORIC, AND HERE ARE SIX EXPERIENCES YOU MUSTN’T MISS

1

1 THE CITADEL

Isam Afaneh is 6′10″ and he sports a stubble. At 47, my greying guide is also phenomenally fit. So much so that while touring the Citadel, perched atop one of Amman’s seven hills, I struggle to match his pace and his passion for history. “You know ruins from six empires are present on this site? You excited to explore?” he asks, and then, as if the questions are rhetorical, he starts enlisting them: Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Muslims, Mamluks, Turks. “This was, you can say, the White House of the Ammonite Kingdom.”

The Citadel affords sweeping views of the capital’s limestone 60

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | MARCH 2018

buildings. Of the relics here—some restored, others in need of restoration—the three 33-foot-tall columns of the Hercules temple are the most magnificent. They frame Jordan’s skies and the country’s flag. Jordanians love their flag. This becomes clear within hours of landing in the country. I’ve spotted the green, black and white bands fluttering outside plush hotels, mounted inside humble balconies and towering over arterial junctions. To the temple’s far north, beyond the cistern, the seventh-century Umayyad Palace is another monument that catches my eye.

Its courtyard is abuzz with toddlers fooling around ancient column stumps, ignorant of the grandiosity their makeshift playground once exuded.

JORDAN

2 AJLOUN CASTLE

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Winding up a hill on Amman’s outskirts, I first lay my eyes on the solitary Ajloun Castle from my car’s window. The closer we inch, the more gigantic it gets. Despite being ravaged by two earthquakes that reduced its five storeys to three, three towers to one, Ajloun remains imposing. “This was actually a defensive castle, a fortress to keep check on crusaders, control trade routes and monitor iron mines,” Isam says of the 12th-century monument.

Inscriptions from the Quran, though faint, are still legible on the facade. Inside, all that’s left of the chambers are arched entrances. Traces of medieval Arab military prowess have, however, stubbornly survived. A cluster of cannonballs, for instance, lies piled in one corner.

When we climb up a storey, Isam points to a gap in the floor and says, “Soldiers used to pour down hot oil on enemies from here.” I do not want to imagine charred bodies on a pleasant morning. Thankfully, we move to the terrace. Seeing us, some pretty Jordanian girls in hijabs abruptly stop their line dancing. They disburse, breaking into giggles. Standing on the terrace, soaking 360° views of the Jordan Valley, I think of the pigeons that ferried sealed scrolls to Damascus and Cairo from here. This morning though, stripped off their past glory, they soar above the fortification purposelessly.

3 OLIVE, ITS OIL

3 1. Of the relics strewn inside the Citadel, the three 33-foot-tall columns of the Hercules temple are the most magnificent. 2. Inscriptions from the Quran, though faint, are still legible on the 12th-century Ajloun Castle's facade.

3. Free tastings of the dense, green olive oil can be availed in most factories.

Black, green, pickled, raw—the omnipresence of olives and the pride Jordanians take in them is obvious. Restaurants serve them generously, and their popularity is evident on the streets. Ambling along Amman’s bustling downtown, for instance, I notice shopfronts lined with olive-filled glass jars that are as tall as two-year-olds. “We have 10 million olive trees, and families who grow olives each produce 60 litres of oil every year,” Isam says, wolfing down some olives over lunch at Ya Hala, a restaurant in the town of Jerash, an hour from Amman. Having sniffed and savoured so much of the fruit and its oil, I request a factory visit. “It’s not in the itinerary. But I’ll try,” Isam says, and then quickly adds, “You know why I try?

Because our olive oil is better than Spain’s or Italy’s.”

En route to Amman, Isam makes a few calls and we get lucky. The fruity, acrid notes hit me even before we step into Jerash Oil Press, a 35-year-old unit. At least 22 men are at work, machine-pressing the fruit, filling its oil into tin cans. On a blue railing separating visitors from workers rests a glass showcasing the bottle green liquid. Isam shoots it down like tequila.

I barely manage a sip. Tequila isn’t so bitter.

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THE ADDRESS

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DELHI

Many

H appy R eturns Having been given a vital makeover, the Oberoi, New Delhi, is again ready for the capital’s many parties

BY SHREEVATSA NEVATIA

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ADITYA SHARMA

The Oberoi’s 220 rooms have all been made more spacious. They each have a walk-in closet and a large bathroom. You can either see the Delhi Golf Club or Humayun’s tomb from its big picture windows.

T

he Mercedes which picks me up from the Delhi airport feels exorbitant. The bottom of my jeans is beginning to tear and the flight has crumpled my shirt. Walking into the marble lobby of the Oberoi, New Delhi, I feel typically discrepant, but the welcome I receive is warm. I think I even recognise the doorman. His smile is intimate; his greeting, familiar. I have been here before. No, I am not an impostor.

In 2016, the Oberoi said it was shutting shop for two years. It needed to refurbish. For 20 months, the tragedy of Delhi’s elite was common. The 51-year-old hotel—elegant, plush, upscale— was suddenly out of their reach too. Thankfully, on January 1, 2018, the Oberoi opened its doors again. The doormen smiled their knowing smiles, and for a brief moment, everything and everyone felt they belonged.

The Oberoi can rightly boast of patrons. Politicians and lawyers do much of their business here. Ever since it first opened in 1965, a meal in its restaurants has been an occasion and a night in its rooms, an event. If you blindfolded one of its many loyal guests, they’d perhaps still be able to find their

THE DESTINATION

Taking

a Shine From climbing a volcano in Indonesia to touring the ‘World’s Iceberg Capital’ in Canada—we know what you should do this summer

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BY MARIELLEN WARD

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WORLD

VLADIMIR PIROGOV/SHUTTERSTOCK.COM/SHUTTERSTOCK

A Kirghiz hunter releases an eagle during Salburun, a hunting festival where participants compete in falconry and archery.

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THE DESTINATION

The first thing you do when you wake up in Pelling, a small, mist-shrouded town in Sikkim, is check for the mountain. Khangchendzonga, the third highest mountain in the world, is a mighty massif with five peaks and an enormous, white-walled silhouette. The size and legend of this Himalayan giant dominates the eastern half of Sikkim, and is only 43 kilometres away from Pelling, set in

HEMIS NATIONAL PARK, Jammu and Kashmir

There’s rejoicing way, way up at Hemis High Altitude National Park. The remote park’s most famous resident was recently taken off the endangered species list.

The snow leopard, as elusive as she is beautiful, is still considered a vulnerable species, though, and remains still as hard to spot as ever. In summer, the big cat’s coat changes to provide added camouflage, but it’s still the best time to visit this high-altitude park in Jammu. Hemis is South Asia’s largest national park, extending over 600 square kilometres, and is named after a monastery near Leh, Hemis Gompa.

The extreme weather, high altitude, and remote location make it difficult to access, and amenities are limited. But Hemis is home to many rare species, including the bharal, ibex, and Ladakh urial—plus, a world of adventure and stunning natural beauty. It may not be for everyone, but for wildlife lovers, birders, and trekkers, Hemis is a paradise.

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a sleepy valley of fertile farmlands, Buddhist monasteries, vivid green rice paddies, and masses of red rhododendrons. But in spite of its gargantuan proportions and proximity, Khangchendzonga is not always seen. Thick layers of cloud and mist often block the view. No wonder it is considered mystical. The presiding deity of Sikkim, harbouring five gods (one for each peak), provides both spiritual and physical protection. Now, if only you could just see it…

COPYRIGHT SOUMYA BANDYOPADHYAY PHOTOGRAPHY/GETTY IMAGES (MOUNTAIN), MARTEN_HOUSE/SHUTTERSTOCK (LEOPARD)

PELLING, Sikkim

WORLD

DZUKOU VALLEY,

Nagaland

SANGLA VALLEY, Himachal Pradesh “It is always the same with mountains. Once you have lived with them for any length of time, you belong to them. There is no escape,” Ruskin Bond knew the magic of the mountains when he wrote these lines. And picturepostcard Sangla Valley, with the Baspa River flowing through it and snowy peaks overlooking it, is the perfect place to experience the beguiling serenity and cooler summer temperatures of the Himalayas. Here the forests are filled with deodhar, pine, and birch; the orchards with apples, cherries, and pine nuts; and the glacial streams with trout. Villages, such as Batseri, are right out of a story book, and spotlessly clean. The Sangla Valley is renowned in the Kinnaur region for its natural beauty, and intricately carved wooden houses and temples, with influences of both Hinduism and Buddhism. This is a place to get lost in.

SHILLONG, Meghalaya

The clouds that have kept Northeast India in the shadows are parting, revealing one of the most enigmatic parts of the country. Cascading waterfalls, matrilineal tribes, sacred forests, and world wonders like the famous root bridges are just part of the attraction. Shillong—which means ‘abode of clouds’—is a former British hill station, dotted with the remnants of colonial architecture,

verdant gardens, and a stunning lookout from Shillong Peak, the highest point in Meghalaya.

Stop at the Don Bosco Centre for Indigenous Cultures, a musem packed with tribal artefacts, and don’t miss the Police Bazar, the bustling market area. Within driving distance, find Mawlynnong, Asia’s cleanest village; Nohkalikai Falls, India’s highest waterfall; Cherrapunji, one of the wettest places on earth; and the living bridges of Nongriat Village, made by the Khasi people from the hanging roots of rubber trees.

BAROT VALLEY, Himachal Pradesh If you really want to get away from it all, this is the place. The Barot Valley is densely forested, and almost off-the-map. To enter it is to experience a kind of timelessness. Drenched in serenity and fresh air, the valley offers travellers an opportunity to slow down and enjoy the simpler things in life: A stay in a guesthouse with home-cooked meals, meandering walk in the woods, trout fishing in the rushing Uhl river. At an altitude of 5,905 feet, Barot is pleasantly cool in summer, ideal trekking weather. The village of Barot lies on the banks of the Uhl and makes a great base for exploring the valley. From here you can trek to villages, like the charming Luhardi, various picnic spots, and lookout points with incredible views.

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HIMANSHU KHAGTA/GETTY IMAGES (RIVER), AMOS CHAPPLE/GETTY IMAGES (WOMEN)

The Valley of Flowers in Uttarakhand is an iconic destination, beloved of nature lovers and trekkers. But it’s not the only flower-carpeted, beautiful valley in India. In summer, the sumptuous Dzukou Valley, on the border of Nagaland and Manipur, explodes in a riot of blossoms, including the Dzukou lily, found only here. The first two weeks of July are peak flower season, but the valley is gorgeous all summer. Rolling hills in shades of blue and green, cool and misty mornings, and sun-dappled afternoons… a natural paradise that’s a regional favourite, but (as yet) undiscovered by outsiders. The trek in will take a few hours, and there’s a rest house in the valley with basic amenities. If you have gear, you can camp anywhere in the valley. Rock climbers will love it.

THE DESTINATION

Kumaon

the hills are alive Travelling to Corbett from a Dehradun boarding school, the rest of Kumaon was only an incidental stop. Over the years, however, an affair with its mountains came to rival Julie Andrews’ love for the hills in The Sound of Music.

She left us with a soundtrack. We leave you with an album TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY SAHIL VOHRA

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UTTARAKHAND

The Trisul massif towers over the town of Kausani. The best views here are those of clouds covering the valley and snowy peaks looming on the horizon (facing page); Increasingly, people from the cities have opened their homes in the mountains to travellers. Locals like Shambhugiri (in picture) often work as caretakers and are usually the best source of local knowledge.

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THE DESTINATION

Florida

looking for the Little Mermaid Onboard the Disney Dream cruise, elaborate musicals and gilded stairs make life seem like a sumptuous summer sundae. The Bahamian islands and fireworks at sea are but the perfect cherries on top

There is something for all ages aboard the Disney Dream, including pools, and nurseries for children as young as six months.

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BY KAREENA GIANANI

PHOTO COURTESY: DISNEY CRUISE LINE

U.S.A./THE BAHAMAS

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THE DESTINATION

Africa

Zanzibar

Treasure Island Found Still remote enough to be considered exotic, Zanzibar has on offer everything you’d want from a beach holiday—and then some

BY GEETIKA SASAN BHANDARI

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ZANZIBAR

Women in Zanzibar traditionally wear a kanga or cotton wrap, often with Ankara prints, a common East African style of wax printing (left); Dhows dotting the archipelago’s waters (middle) are built in the Nungwi area; A popular diving destination, Zanzibar is home to over 350 fish species (right).

MARCH 2018 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

HAUKE DRESSLER/LOOK-FOTO/GETTY IMAGES (WOMAN), DANM/GETTY IMAGES (BOAT), BORCHEE/GETTY IMAGES (DIVER)

L

ast New Year’s Eve, my husband and I, along with a group of friends, were in a speedboat on our way from Nungwi to Mnemba Atoll in Zanzibar, snorkelling gear in tow. Progress was slow because the captain had to take the slightly longer low tide route and the water was choppy.

We’d been on the boat for 45 minutes and the only marine life we’d spotted was a white snapper darting past us. Suddenly, there was streak of grey to our left. We stopped. The captain shut off the motor.

And then we saw them: A small pod of three bottlenose dolphins, their beautiful, grey bodies rising up from the ocean and forming perfect semicircles, like synchronised swimmers. We watched in silence, bound in collective awe, as they disappeared into the deep blue water in seconds. Someone gasped and the spell was broken. It was a moment of pure magic—one that makes its way into the recesses of the mind, neatly fitting into a jigsaw of memories.

Looking back, I see that my entire trip to Zanzibar was very much like that morning. We had been told that there were no dolphins near Mnemba, that the only place to find them was Kizimkazi, a small fishing village at the southern tip of the island. Yet, we spotted the pod at Mnemba and it made that day extra special. And that is how every day had been on this trip to Zanzibar—at every step of the way, it exceeded my expectations.

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THE JOURNEY

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Where Did the Beach Go? GOA

A

Goa, away from its beaches, is biodiverse, sleaze-free, party-loving and populated with kind strangers

By Divya Guha | Photographs By Matthew Parker

Assagao in north Goa has come a long way. Once it was a hamlet of marigold growers who’d walk to Mapusa, the nearest market town, to sell their flowers. Tired from carrying their wares, they’d stop at old missionary-built shrine-like resting spots marked by wells nearby. These are still around to remind you this is fulacho gav, the village of flowers, surrounded by hills 26 feet above the Arabian Sea, which laps nearby.

Watching over the village is Saint Cajetan, whose church was built by Goa’s Portuguese rulers in the 17th century. The queue for this church, sitting serenely atop a hill, does not wind through streets, the mass does not last all day and there is no feast—just some stalls and music on August 7, the saint’s birthday. When you ask if the view from St. Cajetan’s hill is nice, you’re directed to Milagres (Our Lady of Miracles Church) in Badem instead.

Away from the beaches, Goa’s rural qualities fortunately remain intact. The locals are accustomed to the crowds of tipsy tourists. “We never call them drunks—we call them highspirited,” says Shailesh Dias who runs Casa de Aluizio, a B & B, from his 250-year-old family bungalow. Shailesh’s father had seven siblings, most of whom took the cloth, and the two who remained single didn’t care to have any children. The premises are ably managed by Dharma, a quiet, pretty Nepalese woman.

The nearby Villa Blanche Bistro warns you at the entrance: “No Wi-Fi” and “No Stupid Questions.” With a confusingly French name, it serves delicious German food from an exquisite old bungalow. It is typical of the famously fetching homes that the Goans returning from Portuguese colonies built, giving rise to the indigenous Indo-Portuguese style of building, a pastiche whose pomp has aged Assagao has many early gracefully. They are now seeing risers, from walkers ambling down palm tree-flanked a rapid increase of tasteful, if pathways (top right) to bittersweet, revampings. langurs (bottom left) on Villa Not far away from Villa Blanche Bistro's rooftop; Blanche is another 250-year-old A cheery Goan farmer (top bungalow which survives as the left) takes a break from ploughing his paddy patch; Hotel Astoria, set up by Edwin Panoramic views of paddy Fonseca who made his riches in fields can also be enjoyed Africa and returned to Goa in the while savouring a fish thali 1950s. The patrao (Portuguese for (bottom right) at Vinayak Family Restaurant. owner) occupies the study while

his sons take turns to run the restaurant, kitchen and bar. They have one cook and a relative, Hoshi, whose large, kind eyes and Quasimodo hunch make him seem like a very attentive listener when taking an order.

There are no intrusions such as Wi-Fi in the hotel’s rooms.

You might spend your time at the restaurant, which overlooks a strip of garden off the Anjuna-Mapusa Road, to spot butterflies as big as hummingbirds and hummingbirds as tiny as butterflies. One rainy evening, when all creatures—arboreal and not—retreated, a discussion led to Mr. Fonseca insisting that there was such a thing as a good feni, and that I try it.

Mixing with Limca did not improve this tincture-like cashew or palm spirit. It is neither nutty, nor pungent, nor mild, nor aromatic—just sodden. So unlike Goans themselves who, like a good whisky, are warm and laid-back or, like a crisp cerveja, cool and conducive to fun.

The chirping birds, up before the sun, wake you up. The excited twitter of a troop of langurs is followed by the alpha’s call. They hang on the trees and roofs, exotic black faces, silver blonde fur and long, elegant tails, peering from heights.

The patrao’s wife, Mrs. Eida Fonseca, knocks at the door and walks back downstairs to not seem like she is prying. She is holding a seenkh broom in one hand; she wears a grey bob, an A-line skirt and a loose sleeveless top—traditional ladies’ casuals in Goa. Across the courtyard, she says in a Konkan lilt, “I wanted to see who was playing such beautiful music.”

This is the reaction to Dinah Washington’s “The Swingin’ Miss D.” Quincy Jones’ arrangement echoing across the stone courtyard makes sweeping dead leaves away—her morning chore—cheery, perhaps. Unasked, she brings me nutmeg from her garden and the phone number of her son, who worked for the regional press, if I needed any help.

Assagao is rapidly becoming the suburb for folk who are too chic to actually live in the suburbs. A house can cost you anything between `80 lakhs and `10 crores, and Salman Khan and Kiran Rao are reportedly scouting for property. Malavika Tiwari has had an architect visit old Goan houses and build her one here. A handsome and strange Parsi boy, recent tenant in these parts, that look perpetually like flotsam, calls the Anjuna-Mapusa Road, Sunset Boulevard.

Model-turned-businesswoman Carol Gracias moved to MARCH 2018 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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